


Black Hole Sun

by thediscontent



Series: heaven send, hell away [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Choking, Hate Sex, M/M, Mild Blood, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, i guess?, prison arc!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thediscontent/pseuds/thediscontent
Summary: in pandora's vault lies the truth. george wants to find it.(ie:they have prison sex)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: heaven send, hell away [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180499
Comments: 53
Kudos: 436





	Black Hole Sun

**Author's Note:**

> hi babes! this is a continuation of my previous fic apotheosis. you don't necessarily have to read it before this one, but it can help apply context.

If there was one thing that George never wanted to forget, it was the last time he'd laid eyes on Dream. Asleep, his hair twisted gold on the pillows, scarred chest rising and falling, while arms twined around George's waist, his hand laying protectively on George's belly. He'd looked remarkably young, the curve of his mouth gentle and soft, slightly quirked up by a thick scar. He wasn't dangerous like that, he imposed no threat, and yet George's heart had pounded in his chest when he looked at golden eyelashes, his muscles tensing as Dream shifted in his sleep to hold him closer. He had still felt restless in his arms, twisting and turning for hours, unable to sleep, a rabbit in the lion's den.

He'd known he couldn't have stayed, not after all they'd done to each other, not with the path Dream was barreling down, but despite all the hurt and barbed words, he was weak to the warmth of Dream's chest and devoted to the uneasy peace their union brought. He remembered threading his fingers through his hair, pulling himself close enough he could hear Dream's heartbeat. 

He allowed himself a final night of weakness, reminding himself what it felt to love, indulging in the embrace, but when he woke, with Dream still sleeping deeply, he slipped away. He knew if Dream were awake, he wouldn't have been able to go, not with those desperate amber eyes watching him. 

In the end of all things, after he'd picked up his things and slipped into exile, only the mangled remains of his circlet, a destroyed throne room, and claw marks down Dream's tanned back existed to prove he'd been there at all. 

Months blew by, filled with grief and rage and hatred, but in the end, after he'd come to terms with what happened, George liked to remember Dream like that, asleep and unsullied. He branded the feeling of shaking hands into his brain, memorizing the way their skin felt against each other, how the black had seeped in and stained their lips. He thinks about every slight wielded against him, every broken promise, the possessiveness in golden eyes, looking at him as something to be owned or kept. It enraged him, but his fury had an insidious undercurrent of pleasure, knowing Dream so viciously desired him. 

Sometimes, he thought he could still feel Dream's grip ghosting over his hips in bed, breathing down the back of his neck. He folded his hands together every night and begged Dream to find him and take him back home, and he does his very best not to focus on what Sapnap told him, about what he did to Tommy and their old house, about how there was no conceivable way to get him out.

No, George thought only about how he'd still been perfect then, a god tangled in dirty bedsheets. It had hurt to leave him, but he'd done it out of the very last survival instinct he possessed, a persistent nagging he couldn't ignore. It was almost funny to think about now. Look what separation got them. An empty home and a fucking jail cell. 

When Dream got locked up, it took George all of three weeks to summon the courage to ask to see him and three more to be allowed. Behind miles of destroyed territory, hundreds of tons of obsidian, and oceans of lava, kept locked up and weak, he was there. 

George was blindfolded when he went in, injected with something that burned and made his mouth taste of soot. Once, George might have felt scared at the prospect of seeing Dream again, but now he just felt like he was where he was meant to be. 

Sam led him through tunnels that seemed to stretch on forever, deeper into the heart of Pandora's vault, the heat rising until it threatened to choke him. They hit a wall, or maybe a door, George didn't know, and as it opened, the loud bubbling of magma filled his ears. He was behind the sound, that much he knew from what little details he'd gleaned from Tommy's visits. George shielded his eyes and blinked when his eyes were unveiled, blinding light painfully searing through his pupils. A wall of lava stood before him, Sam's hand still resting on his shoulder. 

George was pretty sure he heard Sam call his name, but he was too transfixed on the little black box that was beginning to appear. He couldn't see him, not yet, but he could feel his presence. He could feel it in his bones, and he rejoiced. 

* * *

The gate opened, and he was there. Sam was nothing now, not even an afterthought, inconsequential when those two were finally reunited. He kept trying to talk to George, but the man just waved him off, stumbling down the platform until Dream and he stood only yards apart. Sam stopped trying after a while, and he shut the gate again, lava falling back down the walls while he contemplated the pair sympathetically. 

Dream looked more unstable than George remembered. His hair was longer than before, brushing his shoulders and matted in some places. There was a wild look to him now, foreign from his usual cool demeanor. His jaw was painted in bruised shadow and covered in stubble. 

He used to burn with life, honeysuckle, star fire. The cosmos contained within one person, circling him with dazzling radiance, his hands holding infinities, beckoning war and glory, new growth, and butterfly wings. But he was darker now, starless night sky, storms of doubt and remorse, crow wings brushing against the darkness under his eyes. What once was resurrection and battle had begun to decay, filling with madness and heartbreak. Dream's eyes no longer glistened with light but consumed it, sucking in fire and ash until they writhed with embers, darkest coal. He bled smoke and damnation, spreading black ink over his skin, painting his jawbones. The very sight of him had shame and resentment swelling deep in George's gut. 

They stood only a few steps apart, George watching Dream with glossy eyes and a distant expression, gaze flitting around the lava-filled chamber. George had never been tall, never cut much of an imposing figure, but he felt especially small with the grandeur of everything around him.

Dream dissected him with careful eyes, full of false magnanimity. George couldn't bear to watch him pace like a caged animal any longer, so he cut them both out of their mind-numbing eye contact.

"Dream." He spoke, and his soul thanked him for finally letting that name pass his lips. 

"George." Dream returned, uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice. "Finally come to see me?"

George bit his lip, striding closer to where Dream had slouched against the back corner of his cell, watching lava slide thickly down the walls as George burnt a black hole in his corneas. 

Dream considered him for a moment, admiring the neat tuck of dark fabric around his slim waist. George scoffed at his blatant ogling, whipping a thin hand around in the sweltering heat, white fingers slicing through the air, thick with deceit.

"It stinks in here." 

Dream laughed, following a gust of embers whirling behind the leaning man. George's hair fluffed up with the changing temperatures, lava still rushing down from the ceiling.

"Fire and brimstone, sweetheart," He sighed, "I'm used to it." 

Dream wore a prison-issue jumpsuit, though he'd unbuttoned the top of it and wrapped the sleeves around his waist, leaving him in a somewhat ash-stained undershirt. He was still beautiful, cut from Eden's soil, if marginally leaner. 

"Already? How compliant of you." George pursed his lips, tapping his boot against the wall. Anxiety began to claw up his throat, and his palms started to sweat. "I thought you'd still be throwing curses."

"Are you teasing me?" Dream asked mirthfully, licking his lips, something George found himself mirroring, though he played it off as it just being the blistering heat. "It feels like you're teasing me."

"Maybe a little." George tilted his head up, looking down his nose at him. Dream had once told him that he liked it when George looked at him like an equal, like he knew their love made him untouchable, because so many people couldn't even meet his eye. "You always react so strongly when I do."

"Do I?" 

George stepped further into the room, dragging his toes across the hard obsidian. They were tiptoeing around the obvious, delaying, pretending. If not for the sweltering heat, a painful reminder of where they stood, maybe it would've stayed like that. 

"You look good." Dream offered, staring at him lecherously.

George rolled his eyes. "I look terrible, Dream. Everyone tells me as much."

Every day a bone grew sharper under his skin. Every day Sapnap begged him to eat something, plying him with fruits and cakes, but he could hardly bear even the sight of it, not while the only tithing he truly cared about was gone from him. His skin, which had always been pale, was almost translucent now, and when George turned his head, Dream could see the purple and blue lines trailing up his throat. His collar was high, though, meant to hide the healing bruises on either side of his throat, the product of lonely nights and George wanting to feel something again. 

"You'll always look good to me." Dream said softly.

George shot Dream an annoyed glare, his cheeks beginning to flush bright red, color melting into the dark bags under his eyes. 

George wasn't sure what to do or say; never before had he seen Dream so battered. Usually, he was the ultimate warrior, armed to the teeth, though he could kill a man with a penknife if he really tried. 

It was strange seeing him like this, unarmored, without his blade, and George could almost call him defenseless, if not for the hands that arched and strained against the obsidian, tapping unobstructed across the floor. He'd seen those hands choke the life out of dissenters, break noses and jaws, brutalize rib cages and snap necks. Dream was never defenseless, not so long as he could move. 

"No chains?" George asked curiously, but in the back of his mind, he almost wished they had been there to protect him. 

Dream smiled charismatically, his teeth sharper than George remembered. "Not for me, baby."

There was that word again. _Baby._ Said lovingly, bitterly, angrily. Used like a weapon, like a balm, a salve for old wounds and for ones yet to be cut. Dream had always been one for pet names, always said them with such tenderness, with a soft lilt, and a sugared tongue, like the very mention of George was precious.

Golden light caught on the side of Dream's face, pulling George out of his head and back into the cell. It was becoming increasingly apparent how trapped they were.

"How are you?" George asked warily, pinching at the back of his hand. Dream grinned at him with that supernova smile, threatening him to come close enough to admire the beauty. 

"Well, sweetheart, I'm in prison, so not exceedingly good."

George smiled humorlessly, noting the sparse decorations, a clock on the wall, a worn bookshelf, among other necessary accommodations for life. 

George had missed this. The way they danced around each other, teasing and loving, their silver tongues hemorrhaging affection. He missed the curve of Dream's mouth, the way he tasted of honeyed whiskey, always bent in a precocious smile. George missed the nape of his neck, scarred and strong, bowed over him when they kissed. He missed everything, the stray wildflowers lovingly delivered to him, the nights where Dream reminded him who he belonged to, he even missed when Dream's rage would boil over, and he'd wrap his hands around George's throat because even then, at least he'd been touching him. 

But, what he missed the most was Dream's freedom. Before this, even when they'd been fighting, he'd been out there, always accessible. If he called out for help, he knew Dream would come; if he wanted a touch or an embrace, Dream would give it. But then he got locked up, all because of his fucking ego, and George couldn't have him, couldn't touch him. Dream had ruined him for all other men, so it wasn't like he could seek comfort in the arms of another, though he doubted anyone would come close to him anyway, not with Dream's name hanging in the air around him. 

Still, George _hated_ not being able to be with him whenever he wanted. 

"I miss you." Dream admitted as if he knew what George was thinking. He didn't look George in the eye when he said it; instead, his gaze drops lower, consuming George with hungry eyes. "You have always been my greatest comfort."

"Really? Has your right hand been disappointing you lately?" George laughed, venom in his throat. He hopped off the bed, turning to brush up against the sparse bookcase alongside it. He stepped forward, running his fingers along the spines of the books, gazing down at the imprisoned man with lacquered eyes. "And it's kind of your fault you're here, isn't it?"

Irritation flared through Dream, apparent in the clenching of his jaw. Hostility colored his face, an angry tilt of his head that vaguely reminded George of a wild dog. "My fault?" He echoed, gritting his teeth at the veiled accusations spilling from George's sly mouth. "What, because I hurt people's feelings? I've always made it clear I was on no one's side but my own. L'manburg-"

"I care very little for L'manburg. Much less for whatever petty spats you got yourself into." George glowered, sitting down on the bed in the corner. His legs dangled, toes barely grazing the floor as he dragged his boots over the rough glitter of obsidian. 

"Then what do you care about?"

George looked at him, and though he was tired, fire sparked in his eyes.

Dream sighed in annoyance, running his fingers through his tangled hair. "Enough with the games." He leaned back against the wall, resting his hands on his knees. "You didn't come here just to taunt me. If you want something, just ask."

"Ask? Ask who? You're in prison, Dream; there's nothing you can give me from here."

"I am aware." Dream sighed, unfurling himself from the ground, rising to his full height. "But you want _something_ , George." He watched as George squirmed under his gaze, hot blood rushing from his fingertips to his toes, settling low in his stomach. "Just fucking tell me what it is."

George didn't answer him, opting to run his fingers over the rough-hewn sheets, folded neatly into the mattress. It was militant, in a way, but Dream had always liked to keep his chaos organized. George looked unperturbed, infuriatingly porcelain. He's untouched, but he's not whole, something hollow and empty in his eyes. Dream slammed his hands against the ground, George startling at the noise and shifting imperceptibly further from him. Dream grinned, sadistically enjoying the reaction, even from someone he was supposed to protect.

Dream ran his fingers through his hair, dry and straw-like from the intense heat. "What do you _want_?" He asked again, impatience latent in his voice. 

"What do I want?" George whispered, deadly quiet, the fear he'd shown overpowered by something greater. "What do you think, Dream? What do you _think_ I could want?" His chest heaved with furious breaths, stalking towards where Dream stood. "Smart man like you, I think you can figure it out."

The distance between them was closed quickly, and George pressed his finger into Dream's chest until his chapped lips twitched in pain. "What I _wanted_ was you. But you just had to win, didn't you? You just _had_ to come out on top."

Dream's face screwed up into something terrible and hostile, his teeth bared. "You _wanted_ me?" Dream snarled, grasping George's wrist and pulling him around, pressing him up against the wall with his arm trapped above his head. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," George answered simply, brutal honesty. Dream pressed him back again, hurt and betrayal raw in his eyes, pain the only language they could speak. 

Dream smashed their lips together, so hard George felt a dull pain in his nose, and something warm slicked their kiss. All words were cast aside, replaced by animal need, consumption of each other's mouths. When Dream pulled away, his chin and lips were red with blood, and George could feel something thick and hot dripping noxiously down the back of his throat.

"How can you say you wanted me when you were the one who left?" Dream growled, fear spiking down George's spine as he watched his own blood stain Dream's teeth red. "You _left_ me."

"What other choice did you give me?" George bit, trying to jerk out of Dream's iron grasp. He let out a gasp, kicking at Dream with what little room he had to move. His fingers were like clamps, pressing into George's bones so hard he thought they might break. "S-stop it, you're hurting me."

"I don't care." Dream replied savagely, only holding him harder as he struggled. He scowled, his mouth a bloody cavern, like he ripped someone's heart out with his teeth. His gaze shot down to George's newly exposed throat, and he finally noticed the tell-tale bruises born of thin fingers. A cruel smile graced his face, his hand digging into George's hip.

"What are these?" He asked, running the palm of his free hand over George's throat. Red-hot rage flowed through his veins, the captivating sight of George with bruises in the shape of a hand serving only to spur him on. "Did you do this?"

George turned away, embarrassment apparent in the flush of his cheeks as he tried to bat Dream off. 

"You're so desperate, honey." Dream taunted, pressing his lips to George's cheek. "Were you that lonely?" His hands pulled George closer, and he knew he should stop, but he didn't want to. He wanted revenge for the pain George inflicted on him, retribution for his downward spiral. 

At first, when George left, he could almost convince himself that it meant nothing, that he was just another one of his manipulative ploys, another pawn in his game. But as time went on, and his nights grew sleepless and cold without George to temper him, his desperation became increasingly painful. And now he couldn't rest, obsessed with what he'd lost, George a constant gaping wound he nursed. 

"I begged for you to stay, remember that?" Dream whispered, his teeth sliding over George's esophagus, tongue lathing over golden-brown bruising. "I _begged_ , George. I've never done that for anyone but you." 

George sobbed as Dream slotted his teeth under his jaw, sucking at the sensitive skin there. "No one in this world makes me feel as _weak_ as you do. How did you do it? How did you make me like this?"

"I don't understand-"

"God, George, you make me feel so fucking insane." Dream wrapped his hand around George's throat, pushing him harder against the wall. George gasped breathlessly, and Dream snarled at him, boxing George in with his body. "Sometimes," he twitched, ire buried in his eyes, "I want to hurt you for what you've done."

George's eyes flashed with panic, prey-like, and he thrashed harder than he had before, his instincts screeching at him to run away. He let out a fearful scream, clawing at Dream's hand as it closed even further around his throat. He couldn't breathe, and he was so afraid, but at the same time, he didn't want it to stop. 

Dream's eyes caught the light from the flame, molten pools of vengeance. For a moment, George thought Dream might kill him, and he was strangely okay with that, but then his mouth softened, and the hand grasping his throat released. His face fell, shifting from hard and angry to something strained and unarmed as George coughed painfully. Dream's breathing was rough and shaky as he cradled George's face in his hand, his thumb carefully stroking across his cheekbone. 

"Why do you let me do this?" Dream whispered, blood dripping through his fingers. "Why don't you fight back?"

"Because I love you." George sobbed, his voice broken. He grabbed Dream's face with both hands as tears slipped down his cheeks, whispering out a weak, "I love you." 

Somewhere down the line, George had stopped being his peace. His touch no longer cleansed the blood from his hands; the very thought of him cried belladonna, whispered beautiful death. Winds of ash and heat fanned through the cell, carding through soft black hair, curling under stark cheekbones. He'd changed too, he knew that, but George wasn't supposed to. He was never supposed to get hurt. His face, always beautiful, always perfect, tattooed under his eyelids, and his name, always poison in his lungs. 

"You haunt me." Dream whispered, his tongue tasting of salt and ruin. "Every night."

George's jaw lifted, harsh lines of white and silver against the bloodred flush of his cheeks. He was a wraith, a revenant, a ghost of ash and bone, sent to punish him for his sins. His serpent's tongue darted out of his mouth, breath hot and sweet against Dream's lips. 

"I wasn't made for love." Dream breathed as he grasped the back of George's neck, gently as he could, pressing his forehead to George's. Their eyes closed as they melted into each other, George clutching at Dream's shoulders. 

"I don't care," George replied recklessly, and his words tasted like relief. He pet at Dream's hair, watching as his face softened adoringly at the touch. "Whatever you think you were made for, I don't care." 

Dream pressed their lips together with aching need, tempered only by his guilt, asking him to be gentle. George took him willingly, bleeding and broken, chained and frantic. 

In the back of his mind, something primal screamed at him to run, to push the ephemeral creature before him away, in his heart, in his head, a call of faith and betrayal. It whimpered and wailed, breathing in the sickening scent of seduction and begging him to resist. But Dream couldn't. He wouldn't.

He knew he didn't deserve this, but he'd take it anyway.

Small hands crawled up his shoulder blades, resting there, clutching at the ribbed fabric of his top. George made a mournful noise, tucking his head under Dream's chin, his breathing shallow and unsteady.

Dream led them to the bed, letting George collapse in his lap. He looked out into the lava, and though he had company, for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel watched. George pulled at his hair, getting his attention, and the childishness of the action brought a fond smile to Dream's lips, but the strained look on George's face had him breathing unsteadily.

"I never meant for this to happen," George whispered into his chest, pain making his voice strained and rasping.

"George..."

"Everyone thinks of me as your victim," George confessed to him, terror and truth in his words. What must have people been saying? What must everyone think he'd done? "-that you manipulated me." George redirected, curling up closer on Dream's chest, inhumanly cold. "That you hurt me or kept me cloistered away for your own pleasure.

Dream only looks at him; his mouth pressed into a thin line. Maybe it was true, and maybe he'd been possessive enough to keep him isolated and cruel enough not to care how it hurt him, but it had all been done out of love. He just wanted George to be safe, and if he had to achieve his safety by hurting him, well, there was no choice but that. 

George lifted his head, pressing his lips to a scar on the side of Dream's mouth, a flaw earned in a bar fight that took place lifetimes ago. Sharp teeth tugged at the marred flesh, and it hurt, but Dream let him do it anyway because it felt like repentance. 

A sweet tongue pressed against his teeth, and Dream let it in, let his hands wander to George's hips, touching him for the sake of having his hands on a human being whose purpose wasn't to kill him. George gasped and shivered into his embrace, and it would've been perfect if his conscience wasn't still pleading with him to let George go. 

George reared up, pushing him flat on the bed and moving his thighs to straddle Dream's hips, looking every bit a viper, coiled upon him. Dream loved him for it, for his dignified rage, his beautiful spite. Dream had never wanted to hold something more in his entire life. 

Similarly, George craved Dream in his entirety, flesh and bone, warm and solid to the touch. He wanted Dream to destroy him with his perfect hands, the best way he could think to die, kiss the skin off his bones and pull them together until they couldn't be apart, nuclear shadows on the surface of the planet. 

"George," Dream rumbled, running his fingers up his waist, tapping along his ribcage like piano keys. "I love-"

"No," George mumbled, covering Dream's mouth mid-sentence. Tears slipped down his cheeks, his porcelain facade breaking open. "Not now."

Dream frowned but relented, allowing George to lean down and press their lips together. It was sweet, for just a moment, and Dream almost let it all melt away, forgot about where he was and why he was there, but his teeth slipped, slicing through George's lip.

"Dream," George breathed, suckling on his tongue. "Please." Dream looked up at him and saw the way his pupils were blown out, deep pools of lust. George knew he must've looked something sinful, temptation itself, with a bruise in the shape of Dream's hand necklacing his throat, bloody lips and chin, all red and white. 

Dream gave him a soft smile and flipped them around so that George was the one on his back, twined up in his arms. It felt so good to have him back again, over him, holding him, feeling his skin against his own. Heat flared in his belly as Dream leaned down to kiss him again, groping at George's thighs.

"I want-I want it." George mewled, licking into Dream's mouth. "You. I want you."

Dream wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

It took nothing for them to fall back into that familiar rhythm, and even though Dream was bigger and stronger, he wasn't acting like it. He opened George up on spit-slick fingers, watching as George writhed in pleasure, huffing breathlessly. Every breath he took was feverish, painful to be so close, but not quite there. 

When Dream finally pressed inside of him, it almost felt like going home. Being held open ached after feeling empty for so long, but George welcomed it nonetheless. Slowly, carefully, Dream bottomed out, inch by inch, raw skin enveloping itself as he let out a quiet moan. 

"Baby?" Dream murmured, his mouth a warm comfort against the coolness of George's throat.

"Just-just a second." George gasped, trying to find handholds on Dream's shoulders. "I just need-just-"

"It's okay," Dream comforted him, pressing a gentle kiss against his carotid, "You're okay."

George pulled him down, licking into his mouth with pitiful need, and Dream let him, pressing back with zeal, his teeth biting at George's bottom lip. It was pure sin, the desecration of life and love, but it was theirs, and it was exactly what they wanted. 

George savored their connection, memorizing how he could feel a second, foreign heartbeat inside his body, a lewd thudding tangling up his heart. Dream's strong fingers worked into the tense muscles on the small of George's back, a futile attempting to rub away the pain. When the ache lessened, when it became synonymous with pleasure, evidence of their touch, George gazed up at Dream with wet eyes, swallowing thickly.

Dream looked like he was holding back; George could see it in the strain of his neck, his veins popping. It was sweet, and George loved him for it, but he wanted the Dream who had no holds barred, who took and took until he was satisfied, the vengeful God he was never before allowed to see. He didn't want to be coddled; he didn't want to be treated like glass. He wanted to be _known,_ savaged by something he loved, defiled in the light of hell. 

"Ruin me." George beckoned, wrapping his hands around the back of Dream's neck. Dream looked down at him with eyes of fire, but his hands only spoke of calm, stroking down George's sides. He fought within, nostrils flaring as his already paper-thin self-control wavered. He was buried to the hilt, and the tension only grew in his belly because George was warm and tight, and he looked like he might cry. 

He began to move, thrusting lightly while he lifted George's hips in his hands. George's back arched, pleasure building low and steady as he palmed at Dream's shoulder blades. Dream bowed his head, dutifully pressing his lips to George's throat. 

A little bulge appeared through his belly as Dream fucked into him, flattening when he pulled out. He laid the palm of his hand over it, pressing down on himself through George's stomach, watching with intense pleasure. It was obscene, George's small frame struggling to accommodate him while his spine arched and his ribs pressed against his skin, stretching his torso out. 

"You really need to eat more, sweetheart." He mused, running his fingers over the taut skin of George's stomach. "Haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

He hadn't. Of course he hadn't. How could he? How could he remember to eat when his head was stuffed full of _Dream, Dream, Dream._ It was impossible to do anything but think about him. 

"Dream-" George whined, his hand tangling with the one Dream laid over his stomach. His eyes, sharp and wanting, laid heat on his skin. He wrapped his arms around Dream's neck, pulling them together until George could feel him breathing against his collarbones. He looked so caring, so sweet, touching him in ways that hurt so kindly. George hated it. 

"S-stop." George gasped, but in the same breath, he pulled Dream in closer.

"What?" Dream asked, deeply confused. He tried to pull away, but George dug his nails into his neck, forcing him to stay put.

"Stop it, stop being gentle," George whispered, his nails dragging down Dream's back, clawing and tearing at his skin. "I don't want you to be gentle."

Dream's face creased sympathetically, soft eyes. George could've screamed at it, at the pity, the exact thing he detested. Dream loved him, purity hiding poison. The thing was, George was sick of the facade, and he didn't care what it would take to crack it open. Dream leaned down to kiss him, hair illuminated like flame, and George snapped. 

A sickening crack resonated through the room; Dream's face violently turned to the side as George slapped him _hard._ His cheek reddened as George caught his breath under him. 

When Dream turned back to face him, palpable wrath seeped from his face. He bared his teeth, canines shining something brutal. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dream snarled, grasping George's face in his hand. His eyes glittered with burgeoning lust, reminiscent of gliding along the side of a blade. He gripped George's waist with rough hands, pulling out of him and flipping him on his belly.

George grinned into the mattress, pushing his hips back as Dream shoved himself back inside with little regard for George's comfort. He wanted to feel Dream for weeks, for decades, always belonging to him. If he could collect enough bruises, enough hickies, and wounds, it was almost like he could bring Dream home with him. A constant presence in the form of aches and pains, his body a record of Dream's soul. 

Dream snapped into him as rough as he pleased, forcing George's head into the sheets as he pulled his hips up. 

George let out a shaky moan as Dream began pounding into him, clawing at his hips while his spine bowed painfully. The friction started to build, Dream grunting in his ear as he blanketed George's back with his body, licking at the back of his neck. 

" _Whore_." Dream sneered, spreading George's thighs further apart with his knees. "You just can't keep your legs closed around me, can you?"

George whined as Dream shifted their positioning, pleasure coming even faster, harder, easier. Dream reached around his lithe body, wrapping his fingers around George's throat and squeezing, just to show him how completely vulnerable he was. 

For them, sex had always been a symphony of emotions, things they didn't know how to say expressed with tears and lust. It was the same now, and as Dream slid against him, rubbing deep inside, they understood what went unsaid. 

George's legs shook with the strain it took to keep him on his knees. He felt Dream's teeth slide over the side of his throat, sucking dark hickies as his hand tightened incrementally. His belly was molten, pleasure too much and not enough at once, 

"Touch me, _please, please-"_ George begged, and Dream did, letting out a deep breath as he wrapped his large hand around George, stroking him as he pressed deep into his pliant body. The hand around his throat squeezed, and pleasant black spots danced around him, his head going a little fuzzy and warm. He was almost there, so close he could taste it, he just needed something more, anything more-

_"I'll never let you go."_ Dream whispered in his ear, his voice hot and rough, and George came hard, his blood pounding in his ears as his vision flashed white, then falling into endless, peaceful black. 

* * *

He came to against a warm chest; something hot and sticky between his thighs. Dream had a hand buried in his hair, scratching at his scalp. It was warm, and the air was honey-thick, humidity curling around them. Pretty little stars glimmered in the very outside of his vision as Dream pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. George curled into him, wrapping his arms and legs around his body as Dream let out a shaky breath.

It was so quiet, so peaceful, the burbling of lava the only sound that filled their ears. Dream was very gentle as he caressed George's skin, though George found that it didn't make him feel as distressed as it did before. His hands tapped little rhythms into George's spine, messages of adoration, confessions of remorse, declarations of loyalty, all wordless meanings. 

The time came and went, and they laid in bed together as the world quietly mummified itself around them. George began to fall asleep, lulled by the soothing beats of Dream's heart, but he was roused before he slipped away. Dream smiled at him, blood crusted in his stubble, and slowly helped him sit up. He wiped George down as best he could while George just sat there, enjoying the attention. Dream kissed the center of his throat and began helping him dress, sliding George's clothes back on with gentle hands, memorizing the shape of his body one last time. 

They were both clothed again, though still wrapped up in each other's arms when the lava began to recede. Dream held him as they faced it, watching as Sam reappeared, the final marker of their time together. George felt numb, out of his body as the platform started jutting out towards him, trying to memorize the last seconds of time he had left. 

Dream leaned down, his voice like velvet, as he rubbed George's wrist, thumbing carefully over the thin bones.

"I'll come to you when I get out of here." He whispered as he led George to the platform. "I promise."

George wasn't sure if he believed him, but he walked on nonetheless. He could feel Dream's eyes on him each step of the way, back into the freedom that felt more like hell than any imprisonment ever could. 

He turned, but Dream had already slunk back into the shadows, completely out of sight. His heart ached a bit, but he pushed it down, too exhausted to think. 

He jumped when he felt a hand on his back, whirling around to face Sam, who examined his destruction carefully. Bruises, hickeys, swollen lips, it wasn't hard to assume what had happened. His mouth tasted of blood still, honeyed whiskey under his tongue.

"Did you get closure?" Sam asked, not unkindly.

George looked at him, still a bit dazed, and replied with what was perhaps the biggest lie he'd ever told. 

"Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> as always, i hope u liked it!!! i appreciate each and every single one of you more than you will ever know. my twt is [@thediscontent_](https://twitter.com/thediscontent_), and I'm always there to talk to, should you so choose. 
> 
> here r some songs i listened to while writing this :p
> 
> black hole sun- soundgarden  
> heart-shaped box- nirvana  
> drowning lessons- my chemical romance  
> i bet on losing dogs-mitski  
> +[the playlist for this one](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3X8to1ufdhu7RUniTnLC9U?si=41fe5eae0a0b4fd1)  
> see u next time :) ily


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